To the End of the World and Back

December 2024

Looking back through my journals, I realized I’d never done a decent writeup for my last trip to Antarctica. Full photos of this trip can be found at https://www.flickr.com/photos/joshgates/albums/72177720323007138/

Part One: Getting There

After another year of anticipation, planning, and working on myself, it was finally time to head back to Antarctica. I'd done this before, but there was still anticipation, the thoughts of "what am I about to experience?” that comes with pointing yourself toward one of the most remote places on the planet.

I flew into Buenos Aires a couple days early to give myself time to breathe, unwind from work, and just as a buffer in case of issues again. I spent the day I arrived wandering around San Telmo to see the Sunday market. Changed some cash into pesos, and watched the city go about its business. Bar Británico became my unofficial headquarters, offering strong coffee, cold beer, and a people-watching perch where I could reflect on where I was at. I didn't need to understand a word of Spanish to feel at home there.

I'd booked a private tour of the city for my only full day there. We visited the famous Pink House, a church I wish I'd spent more time in, and a two-story bookstore from a converted theater that was genuinely one of the most beautiful rooms I've ever been inside. We missed the rose garden again, next time I'm going to make sure I go when it's open.

Reading back through my journal, what stuck out most about Buenos Aires wasn't the sights, it was my mental state. "I do feel good here," I’d written, "don't understand the language and have no real idea what I'm doing – but happier here than I am at home by a good margin." Something about being untethered, without routine or obligation, opens up space that's hard to find otherwise. I've started learning some Spanish though for the next time I go back. I don't feel right staying in a country for a few days without at least an attempt to learn the basics.

Then, Ushuaia. Finally getting to spend the time here I missed last time. Unlike the previous trip, this one went perfectly, on time, no airport changes, smooth flight, and oddly great coffee for a flight.

Flying into Ushuaia never gets old. The mountains come down to the water and the city sits there at the bottom of the world. Last trip, there had been travel stress and a sense of relief when I landed, this time it was an excitement around getting a few days to explore. I checked into the Wyndham Garden, dropped my bags, and went downtown with no agenda.

I stopped at an espresso bar for a double shot and a ham & cheese croissant. I sketched a little, the first page of a new sketchbook, something I'd been wanting to get into for ages. Walked through town for a couple of miles, just taking in the sights, doing a bit of souvenir shopping, and trying out some of the restaurants.

Fellow passengers began showing up through the day, and I recognized a few of the guides who were signing on too from the previous year, a nice surprise. The evening briefing was a fantastic introduction to the other passengers who were already in town and I made several friends that I spent a good part of the trip with.

The next morning, I woke the beautiful sight of the Ocean Endeavour at the pier, offloading the previous voyage's passengers. By afternoon, I was aboard.

Part Two: The Drake Passage

There are two Drake Passages. There's the Drake Lake – calm, glassy, almost kind, and the Drake Shake, which is the one that tosses you around in your bunk and makes you tell yourself it’s an expedition, it’ll make a great story. We got the Shake on the way down, four to six meter swells that made the first day at sea an exercise in horizontal endurance.

But here's the thing about the Drake, it can make you earn the destination. Every roll of the ship is a reminder that you're crossing one of the most powerful bodies of water on Earth, the place where the Atlantic meets the Pacific with nothing in between. By the second day the seas calmed, a few whale plumes appeared on the horizon, and the first iceberg showed up around 4:30pm, and everyone ran out on deck to enjoy them.

I spent those sea days going to photography meetups, attending lectures from naturalists and scientists, and trying to capture seabirds from the aft deck with mixed success. I'd made a note to myself, borrow one of the Sony cameras to try birding properly. The reach on my own lens just wasn't there (relevant in my next post!).

What surprised me most was the mental quiet. No internet was a deliberate choice, and it worked. "Mental health has been great so far," I wrote on day two at sea. "100% on board with the decision to not get internet, doesn't feel like it's been a full week since I left. Haven't thought about work more than in passing." There's something about this region, the scale of it, the distance from real life, that quiets certain kinds of noise.

Our first time seeing land was the evening of the 21st, we were sailing through this beautifully calm water, icebergs in the distance and a slowly setting sun that just wanted to graze the horizon before rising again. I, and many others, spent hours on the upper deck above the bridge just enjoying the peace, the stunning colors and views, reveling in the camaraderie about the adventure we were undertaking.

When I think back on this trip now it’s one of the most poignant memories.

Part Three: Antarctica

Neko Harbor – December 22

Our first Antarctic landing was a mainland landing. This is not a small thing, often visitors only touch Antarctic islands. Setting foot on the actual continent, with a glacier behind you and a gentoo penguin colony waddling past, is surreal in a way that doesn't wear off.

Last year, conditions had only allowed a zodiac cruise at Neko Harbor. This year we got to land. I did the loop hike, climbed until I hit the top of the loop, short of the final viewpoint, legs burning, and it was worth every step. The views over the bay and glacier were extraordinary.

The zodiac cruise that followed was filled with iceberg formations, gentoos porpoising through the water, and a humpback whale or two putting on a show. The afternoon plan for Brown Station turned into an unplanned zodiac cruise through Paradise Bay instead, winds and ice made landing impossible, but two hours drifting through icebergs, watching seals haul out on ice floes and catching four penguins mid-leap at the exact same moment, is not a bad substitute for anything.

That night, sixty passengers camped on the shore. I was not one of them. But from the ship, I went up to the bridge late and stood in the near-midnight light watching icebergs drift past, a few whales surfacing in the distance, and a sunset burning behind a mountain at nearly 11pm.

The Polar Plunge – December 23

The weather didn't cooperate for our planned morning activities, but it did give us a humpback whale doing something extraordinary, looping tail-slaps upside down on the surface, a behavior the guides said was unusual and unforgettable. Then, the polar plunge.

144 people jumped into Antarctic waters that day. I was one of them, for the second year in a row, and it was somehow better the second time. You know what's coming, which doesn't help, and yet the moment of collective madness, everyone cheering in the mud room, the walk to the side, the drop, works exactly the same way. The cold hits and then, as your body adjusts, there's a clarity that's hard to describe. You're doing something a tiny fraction of the world has ever done. Throw back the shot of vodka and rush up to the hot tub to warm up with everyone in high spirits.

The afternoon brought a zodiac cruise through the Melchior Islands in heavy snow, big fat snowflakes that made it feel almost cinematically Antarctic, and three species of penguins spotted in the same location. The scheduled BBQ came indoors because of the weather, and the ship's musicians kept us company with live music in the bar.

Christmas Eve – December 24

"A great day for life, just not photography," as the expedition photographer put it.

The zodiac that morning ran in thick snowfall, the water churned up into a slush of ice crystals, and we were treated to a lunging humpback whale surfacing right in front of our boats. Blue icebergs glowed beneath the surface. Snow fell into the water and didn't melt – it sat there, forming a thin crust. Bird tracks crossed the flat top of an iceberg like a signature.

In the afternoon, conditions improved enough for another ride, calmer, with four whales breaching simultaneously against a dark, dramatic sky, birds perched on icebergs, and at one point our guide gunning the engine at full speed to chase a suspected whale into an ice field, using a large floe to bulldoze a path through the surrounding ice. We held on and loved every second.

Christmas Day – December 25

Two landings on Christmas Day.

The morning brought a calm, beautiful walk at Palaver Point on Two Hummock Island. Huge penguin colonies. Humpback whales curious enough to swim near the zodiacs. SUP boarders out on glassy water alongside a glacier. Snowshoers climbing into the low clouds above the shore.

The afternoon, Mikkelsen Harbour, was a fabulous final landing. Two young elephant seals jousting in the water as we came ashore. Snowy sheathbills waddling closer and closer with no fear. Weddell seals sleeping in the snow. Gentoo penguins on their eggs, nesting all around an old Argentine refuge hut. It began to snow heavily, and someone said it felt like their holiday wish had come true.

Then the zodiac ride back, in rough, choppy conditions, which was wild and exhilarating and the kind of thing you don't forget.

Part Four: The Drake (Again) and Home

The return Drake was rough on day one – people slept in, the ship rolled, the albatrosses kept us company from the decks. By the second day, calmer seas and clearer skies, wandering albatross appearing as we approached the Beagle Channel.

Nearly 2,800 kilometers covered. Eight days at sea and at anchor. A second year at the end of the world.

Reflections

This trip was completely different from last year, and I enjoyed every moment of it. No travel disasters, more comfortable with myself, more time spent outside on deck, different friends, different days, different weather.

The quiet was the other thing. No internet for nine days means my brain, which has gotten very accustomed at constant input, has to find something else to do. What it found, eventually, was just observing. Losing myself in the water, studying the birds, marveling at the icebergs. Taking in the enormous, indifferent beauty of a place that doesn't know or care that you came all this way to see it.

That's the thing about Antarctica. It doesn't perform for you. You perform for it, every awkward zodiac boarding, every penguin craning its neck to look at you, every moment of standing at the bow in the cold watching a whale breathe. You bring yourself to the edge of the known world and you find out who shows up.

I'll be back.

Later this year as it turns out.

Voyage aboard the Ocean Endeavour, December 18–26, 2024. Antarctic Peninsula expedition with Intrepid Travel.